


The Master Beneath Me

by bactaqueen



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars: New Jedi Order Era - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stream-of-consciousness as Jaina Solo reflects on her relationship with Kyp Durron during an intimate moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Master Beneath Me

**Title:** The Master Beneath Me

**Author:** bactaqueen

**Rating:** R

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to their respective owners. Star Wars belongs to George Lucas. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Stream-of-consciousness as Jaina Solo reflects on her relationship with Kyp Durron during an intimate moment.

**Author's Note:** No names are mentioned, and apparently, this works just as well for Obi-Wan/Padme-Amidala as it does for Jaina/Kyp.

 

 

I’m here. He’s here. It’s dark, but that doesn’t matter. I can see him. I can smell him. I can hear him. I can feel him. I can taste him. More than that, I am him. I see through his eyes. I smell through his nose. I hear through his ears. I feel through his hands. I taste through his mouth.

There’s a war raging outside. The transparisteel windows rattle a dance as our fighters pass by, too close. The booms reverberate through the building. That isn’t important. What is important now, here, is him.

He kisses me again, and that sharp mouth always so grim melts. Softens. Gives and takes. I’m important to him. I’m the universe to him. Worth fighting for. Worth dying for. Worth living for. He’s bittersweet. Warm. Sad.

The room flashes visible, and the window rattles again. The walls shake. The bed shakes. Blood red light splashes in. My intake of breath is sharp. He’s beautiful.

So am I. He thinks. He sees. His hands come up from my waist. He links our fingers. It’s dark. It should be cool--the hum of the air circulation unit is constant. But the jungle heat presses in from outside. And sweat shines on toned muscle. We’re making our own heat.

I’m ready. So is he. I rise up, and red spills over him again. It’s getting bad out there. We could be called to action. Even knowing that, I don’t rush. I can’t rush. I slide back, down.

My name spills from his lips. Once. Twice. In time with our rhythm. Again. A gasp. A moan. My name.

Another sonic boom. Another flash of red. His face, in the heat of the moment. There is nothing in his world at this moment but me. My body, over his. My beauty. My love.

I let him chant my name. I lean to kiss him. He’s hot, hungry. I feel it coming...

He grunts a prayer. My name again. This time, when light flashes, it’s orange. And it lingers.

We cast a single shadow on the far wall. There is nothing between us. No more lies. No more secrets. No more pretense.

It goes beyond lust. It goes beyond love. It know what it isn’t; I just wish I could know what it is.

I see myself. I have to open my eyes. His face is open, his expression unguarded. The heat is finished, but I do not move. I stare.

Who is he? I suspect he barely knows. For that matter, who am I? If anyone can tell me, he can.

I disengage our hands. I smooth his hair back from his forehead, trailing my fingers through the thick darkness. He watches me, watches my face and eyes. He is looking for aversion. He will not find it. Even when my fingers dance through the prematurely silver strands.

I lean down to kiss his hair. He has such a masculine scent. My fingers drift. Over his forehead, along defined cheekbones and sharp jaw. Across his thin, angry lips. So sweet. So gentle.

Down his neck, usually so tight with tension. Not now. Along his shoulders, wide. Down to a lean chest, and the soft dark hair that is the path. He draws a breath. The night was made for lovers; lovers share a certain intimacy.

This goes beyond a certain. He is mine. He knows it. I know it. I let my fingers explore, let my eyes follow.

He’s beautiful. Lean, all sharp edges and angles. A weapon. A powerful weapon in  
my arsenal. I smile. Dangerous.

He is the master. My Master. We didn’t choose each other; we barely chose the Force. We accepted each other. Accepted the Force.

I arch, rear up. He groans. Long-fingered hands find my hips. My smile is decidedly wicked. He’s ready again. We are not trivializing the Force.

I place palms on the bed, to either side of his head. I begin to rock. I lower my head, my mouth centimeters from his. He whispers my name.

I’m here. He’s here. It’s dark, but that doesn’t matter. I can see him. I can smell him. I can hear him. I can feel him. I can taste him. The Master beneath me.

His name slips out, unbidden. It’s no longer my fault. I have no more control. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

He always did hurt me in the worst ways.


End file.
